


Abandoned Bandom WIPS

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tin, each chapter is a bunch of drafts I'm clearing out, there's some stuff I still like, so I reserve the right to steal from myself and expand at any time, but because I'm posting this, I'd like to extend that option to others also, feel free to finish where I left off if you want to :)All chapter titles are one sentence summaries or prompts or tropes, so browse and see if there's anything interesting, but I'm not gonna clog up the tags. You can generally assume most of it is f/g, and there's usually some guarantee of strong language**Complete for now, unless I have more ancient wips laying around somewhere
Relationships: Frank Iero & Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Gerard Way & Mikey Way





	1. A Very Ridiculous Victorian AU in which Frank is not Lord Byron and Gerard is not Count Dracula but they do write and bite maybe

In which Frank is not Lord Byron and Gerard is not Count Dracula. 

  
  


Frank Iero’s Journal

“17 April 1873

I’ve travelled down by ship to Italy once before when I was rather young, and very ill, to visit my paternal relatives. I was sent with my fellow English cousin and we stayed in Florence for close to four months. Mother worried terribly over my condition over the journey but I had made a swift recovery at the ripe age of 13 years. I’m 20 now, on my first expedition to the continent since that time, and I worry I may not fare as well without the support of Father’s wealth. Oh well, I suppose. 

The purpose of my visit is to honour the invitation of my very good friend Michael Way. He is to be married and it will be taking place at his brother the Lord Way’s estate in Venice. I have not seen Michael since we were 16, though we’ve written back and forth extensively over the years. He and I were schoolmates all our lives practically, but the strangest thing is that I have not been acquainted with his brother more than a handful of times. Their father was old Scottish heritage, a line that is inconceivably old, large, and well to do. 

Michael’s brother is actually the one sponsoring my journey, and I have written him personally in thanks along with my letter of acceptance for the invitation. I’ve been assured it was no trouble on his part and that he is only happy to see that Michael (or Mikey, as he wrote) has been reunited with his childhood friend (myself). Also, that he is looking forward to formally meeting me since he believes (without any offence intended, as he wrote) that our previous acquaintance was rather unmemorable. To which, I must agree, since he was often away in our youth apparently being educated in the fine arts.

I’m looking forward, very much so, to meeting Ms Alicia Simmons. Michael has been writing to me about her for a few years now as they started out as friends and became engaged quite recently. It was not a surprise per say, but Michael once had many offers, he’s told me, due to his status and his profession.

My hand is becoming rather tired of the formality, so should this reach my Mother I do hope she understands. Mikey has many high profile friends, both men and women, who he speaks to about art and literature. He works for an English gazette writing critiques of the Italian arts and way of life. He’s also published several small journals of his travels about the mediterranean. They do modestly back home in terms of sales, so he tells me. His brother puts his artistic talent to use and often compliments Mikey’s writings with detailed line drawings of the towns and operas being featured. I would say, regardless of my bias, their work is rather persuasive in contributing to my excitement in visiting the beautiful Venice. 

The ship’s journey so far has been, quite honestly, wretched. I hope not to do it again too soon after I arrive. The Ways have graciously invited me for an extended stay as Mikey plans on returning to England for the honeymoon period and would like to travel later rather than sooner. He is pleased to have my company arriving soon, and has told me also that Ms Simmons will be relieved to have a new face from Britain. As, apparently, their social circle is mostly relatives who much prefer galas and salons to a good game of cricket. I wrote to Mikey I would bring a newspaper with me just for that reason as I must admit I prefer concerts and operas to all three former pastimes. 

I will be arriving in port not too long from when I am writing this, should the weather decide to be kind. I shall be writing home to assure Mother I’ve arrived safely. I’m looking forward to that arrival more than I can express in words, truly. So, for now I shall stop attempting to do so and retire to bed.”

{At the Lord Way’s Rêveur Estate in Venice, nicknamed “the Bazaar” by its staff.}

Frank was escorted personally by Mikey when he arrived in port, his modest two trunks in tow by the quiet men that appeared behind them from seemingly nowhere. The relief and familiarity of seamless housestaff was something that Frank had forgotten over time, but it was nothing compared to the rush of similar feelings when Mikey embraced him. They spoke ceaselessly the entire journey back to the estate and were now sat in a lounge conversing more and awaiting the arrival of Ms Simmons and Lord Way. 

“Alicia should be down shortly,” said Mikey, “I think she’s nervous as the past few days I’ve been speaking very highly of you. She wants to make a good impression with the right dress. I rather believe she thinks you’re worth the effort.”

Frank grinned at the jab, “My character is absolutely worth the effort.” he shoved Mikey’s shoulder, “My own attire may not reciprocate it, but the intent to make a good impression is there on my part as well.”

“I think you’ll succeed, Mr Iero.” came a feminine voice from the door, it was Alicia in what was indeed a very nice dress. Her hair was tied back to duel braids, and her expression was bright and open that Frank could only meet it with a smile of his own. He stood up to bow very slightly and shake her hand delicately.

“I do hope so, Ms Simmons.” Frank agreed. 

“To hell with formalities, this is my wife and my best friend and I’ll have none of it.” Mikey declared, and they shared a laugh, settling back down to the collection of chairs.

It felt like several hours, and it probably was, of recounts over the last few years. Catching up, discussing wedding things, mostly exciting stories of Venice and all of the strange visitors Rêveur hosted. Eventually a footman appeared to announce dinner would be soon, that the Lord had arrived and would be joining them, and also to escort Frank to his room to dress for the occasion as he was still in grimy journeying clothes. 

He couldn’t say he was nervous for a bad reason, it was all very exciting, it was just that his stomach had always been sensitive so he didn’t give the strange ache he felt any regard. He descended a few moments later to the dining hall, it was a great sight with the capability to seat many. A laughably short eight person table apologetically took its place in the centre of the large room, at the right side and then beside him sat Mikey and Alicia. At the head of the table sat a man with strange dyed dark hair and he appeared to be staring directly at Frank with a piercing grin, it could only be—

“Mr. Iero, I’m Gerard, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” The Lord Way had abandoned his seat and was stalking towards Frank with a hand outstretched to the apparent exasperation of the staff. “How was your journey? Was it long? Are you feeling very well?”

Frank’s brain kicked in a moment later and he took the Lord’s hand to shake, nodding along as they took to sit at the table. “Yes, everything was to expectation. It’s good to finally, formally, meet you as well.”

“I trust Mikey has kept you company since your arrival this morning,” the Lord said and Mikey nodded, “I’ll try not to bombard you with questions but I am very curious, you understand.”

Frank gulped, eyeing the wine in front of him, “curious?” he asked, trying to sound neutral. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell, sir. If Mikey has spoken of me as much as I’m to believe he has then you know I’m quite boring, really.”

“No, no.” the Lord insisted, “I’m told you’re quite the renowned musician these days. You play in a string quartet, is that it? I believe you know my friend Mr. Toro, he is also an accomplished violinist.”

Recognition flashed across Frank’s eyes, “I do know Mr. Toro, I’ve had the good fortune of watching him perform often as he enjoys an audience during his composing process. My ear is not as fine as his, but he is so enthusiastic to have feedback. A very skilled man, that he is.”

“Yes,” the Lord beamed, “If it isn’t so objectionable I would love to hear you play sometime, perhaps with Mikey. It’s been far too long since I’ve heard him pick up a cello.”

“Oh, of course.” Frank agreed, “It would be a pleasure.”

The small talk persisted throughout dinner, and Frank found that the Lord Way was not so willing as his brother to break formality as all the evening he and Alicia were referred to as Mr Iero and Miss Simmons or sometimes Miss Way-to-be. He found that Mikey was not unused to this either, and the whole evening was rather polite if not pleasant. The four of them spoke well into the evening trading stories and asking him questions.

Eventually, they collectively agreed it was a fair time for bed and Alicia and Mikey scattered away with enthusiastic goodnights for Frank as the four of them travelled back to the main hall. The Lord Way, having stalled his leave, shared a smile with Frank and outstretched a hand to shake for the second time. This one was more firm and decisive. 

He said, “I have played my best version of a conventional host, Mr Iero. But, I’m afraid that should I keep up the charade I will likely collapse in fatigue from the effort. If you know Mikey, you know that we are quite an odd family here and I hope you can forgive any qualities that may seem out of place on my part from this point forth.”

“Of course, sir.” Frank nodded, “Mikey’s eccentricities and stories of your household have, do forgive me, left me a bit surprised at the normalcy of the evening.”

“I thought so,” the Lord smiled, “Do call me Gerard, or any other name you see fit. I’d much rather answer to anything other than Lord Way. It is very restricting.”

“Of course, and the same.” Frank said with a delighted smile. 

“Good night, then, Frank.”, Gerard said, and they ascended the stairs in opposite directions for the comforting embrace of sleep. 

  
  
  


Frank Iero’s journal

“21 April 1873

The first day in, which was yesterday as I am writing this the following morning, was very pleasant. I was surprised to find the formality and the familiarity neither stifling or whelming. Lord Way… Gerard spoke to me personally before the night’s end that he had done his best act as a conventional host, which I am both amused and flattered by the efforts of. Mikey and Ms Simmons are a handsome couple, and they have this glow about them that says more than I could ever describe. The Lady told me about her wishes for the decor, and the entertainment after the ceremony. I haven’t been to many weddings, but it appears we will start the day with a formal dinner at the Rêveur estate, and then the ceremony at this apparently stoic Catholic church, and the following evening a gala will be held to honor the newlyweds, also at Rêveur. 

I have limited my expectations so as to be surprised and awed as I possibly can. Not that I believe I would not be otherwise, but that I’ve been in a sort of fog since my arrival and would like to be shaken of it by the time the ceremony is scheduled. I do not think my racing thoughts are helping in this plan, though I think it may have something to do with settling my whole being after travelling by boat for the first time in far too long. If my mother should see this, this comment hasn’t anything to do with being critical about our current state of wealth. I do believe that many of these luxuries, though joyous to be afforded them, are a privilege for people more schooled or interested in gossip and social necessities than myself. This statement also does not reflect my impression of individuals in this class, especially the Ways. I don’t fool myself into thinking my high opinion of them is of any real value, but I do believe that whatever the case may be they are sincere people who I admire precisely because of the status they have despite this.”

  
  


{At the Rêveur Estate in Venice.}

  
  



	2. Zombie apocalypse in a mall, or the Dawn of the Dead AU

So what he had meant to say was that, “Sir, Mikey and I are really sorry. We didn’t mean to get high as we were closing and we didn’t mean to invite Ray from the Hot Topic or Frank from the Smoothie Bar and pass out behind the counter, even though Shoe Outlets have notoriously narrow cashier desks.”, but what had come out instead as he approached the office in the back storage room upon waking that morning was a chilling scream of terror. And that, was just perfectly Gerard, Mikey had thought.

Gerard, gripping the front of his shirt with an expression to rival any classic horror heroine (victim), bolted out from the back room with an urgency unheard of for those just barely post-drowsy pot nap. He said, “Mr Boss Man is dead. I-I don’t think he even got out last night. There’s a lady in there too, on the ground. It’s awful, oh it looks like a crime scene.”

“Why do all the cool things happen to you?”, Frank complained, but the much more sensible Mikey Way was already on the hunt for his cell phone.

Ray looked dumbfounded but suggested, “Uhm... This is fucking weird.”

“Point,” Gerard agreed, nodding profusely, “I’m thinking it wouldn’t be too smart to open the barrier. There’s an exit that leads to the maintenance halls in the back so if we call security they can get in through there.”

“Of all things,” Ray mused, shaking his head in disbelief, “So what, did the old man really not leave?”

“Man, who knows?”, Frank shrugged, “We’re all probably gonna go to jail now.”

Gerard huffed, “No we’re not. I mean, we def fucked up by neglecting our responsibilities but it’s already mid morning so this could’ve happened any time between 11 last night and 11 now.”

“Well,” Mikey said, turning to face them all, “I called Pete down at security and apparently there has been an epic breakout of zombiism and the four of us are the only survivors he’s heard from.”

“That’s not funny,” said Gerard earnestly, “I totally believe in that stuff and you’re not funny.”

“I’m not lying, either.”, Mikey frowned, worry evident on his face, “He seemed pretty sincere. Apparently he’s been holed up in the camera room for the last 12 hours watching people mindlessly walk about and a bunch of live humans have been mauled to death. He said there’s blood everywhere on the first floor.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Frank snarled, “I mean way to make light of your boss’ death like that and this whole situation is already fucked up. I’m not like, a sensitive person but even I can recognize when shit’s not cool Mikey. Drop the act.”

“Maybe we should just—“, Ray tried.

“Shut up, Iero.”, Mikey said firmly, “I’m being serious, I’ll call him again if you don’t fuckin’ believe me.”

Pete picked up on the first ring, and the tinny speaker echoed, “Hey, what’s up? You guys okay?”

“Hey,” Mikey said, “My friends don’t believe you. How are we supposed to know this isn’t the worst prank in the world?”, he asked indignantly.

“Uh, well, oh god.”, Pete stalled, “You kinda just have to see it for yourself, I guess. Where, you said you guys are in the shoe outlet on the second floor? You should be able to access the maintenance stairs and come up to the very top where I am. I’ll have to forge a path cos there’s some… unfortunate souls along the way, but I’ll meet you at the top of the stairs so you’re not unarmed.”

“That okay with everyone?”, Mikey asked blankly. 

“I’m game, either way we should get out of here before we make things worse for ourselves.”, Gerard nodded.

Frank glared at Gerard but said nothing and Ray nodded along anyway, not caring one way or the other at that point.

“Okay, then.”, Mikey sighed, “We’ll meet you there.”

“Awesome,” Pete said, and sounded like he meant it, “I’m glad it was you guys, if it was anyone at all.”

They each had backpacks with a change of day clothes and other items, keys, chargers, Gerard’s art supplies, and they gathered their things. As they walked past the office in the back room morbid curiosity got the best of them, it was as Gerard had described. 

Their boss was in his chair, head lulled back, skin a pale blue. A woman laid on the ground, part of her head caved in grotesquely, her face glued to the ground. Gerard was head of the pack and Frank and Ray peered over his shoulder cautiously.

Frank brought a hand to his nose, “Kinda looks like a Romero, all blue and cartoon-y like that.”

Gerard let out a sad chuckle, because it was true but they shouldn’t be thinking it.

Ray shook his head, seemed to be the only thing he could do, “I’ve gotta be dreaming.”, he said.

They made their way to the very back and through the exit, finding what probably counted as the fire escape stairs on top of everything else. They ambled up the several flights of stairs until they met Pete close to the top. They startled each other but Pete’s big grin and goofy ramblings sedated them all enough till he could lead them to the clear hall and through to the security wing.

Handling big metal doors with locks that rang as he turned them, Pete said, “Phew! Oh God, is it good to see real people. Not– Not dead dying people. Oh, yeah.”

“So you’re totally not even lying,” Frank said, less skeptical than before. The whole way up Pete detailed the horrors he’d seen over the video feed. Everything from children to service dogs being mauled and turned. 

“Of course not,” Pete shook his head, leading them into the wider offices, “I was just lucky enough to be taking a lunch break on night shift and then Travie radio’d me to lock down everything and I haven’t heard or seen him since. That was about 8 hours ago.”

“Is there any access to cable? How about the internet?”, Mikey probed.

“This isn’t the time,” Frank frowned.

“It is the fucking time. What crawled up your ass and died? If we can get access to a news feed there might be something we’re missing. Or I don’t know, don’t you wanna call your mom? I know I do.”, Mikey explained.

“I’m kind of having a depressive existential crisis about how everything is meaningless and that suddenly I’m no longer afraid of death because this is all very frightening.”, Gerard added, staring blankly ahead. He’d slid down the wall he was leaned against, holding his bag protectively against his chest.

“Right,” Ray said, “So, staffroom TV?”

“Already gotcha covered,” Pete nodded, “After a few hours I kind of just, uh, gave up trying to figure out what to do and there’s a signal in there, yeah. I was watching Seinfeld.”

“Leave it to Pete,” Ray said exasperatedly, “In the event of an apocalypse… leave it to Pete.”

***

The five of them huddled around the TV as Mikey changed the network a billion times from static to static to Local News! He muttered a triumphant little, “Yes,” under his breath and leaned back to take in the broadcast.

None of them could believe how eerily similar this all bared to, “Every fucking movie I’ve ever watched.”, Gerard marveled, and they all nodded in agreement. Shocked into silence that this was actually happening.

“A reminder to keep all your doors locked, windows shut with curtains drawn and any blunt or sharp objects with you that could aid in self defence. We’ve managed to contact several departments of local and neighbouring police, and the answers are unanimously: We don’t know what to do.”, The newscaster recited. She had a bright blue blazer on and wild blond hair that might’ve been teased into shape once, but the mascara trails down her cheeks gave it all away and Mikey knew for sure this was probably it.

“Gee, I’m gonna call Ma. You comin?”, he asked, and Gerard nodded silently as they left the room to escape for a few minutes.

Frank, Ray and Pete all stared dumbfounded at each other. Willing the other’s the cry first, but it was Frank who spoke, “I guess this is karma for shitting on the Dawn of the Dead remake even though it wasn’t half bad.”

Ray wanted to scream, but he settled for sighing instead, “You know you gotta make up your mind on how you’re gonna treat this all, right? I’m not saying I don’t appreciate your humour because it’s good to keep things light but like, why are you on Mikey’s ass all of a sudden?”

“Ooh,” Pete said, “How do I get in on that?”

“You don’t,” Frank snapped, “And I’m not. I’m stressed and I’m tired and I don’t know how to feel, is that okay? Or do I have to try again?”

“No, that’s fine.”, Ray rolled his eyes, “And while you’re having your little tantrum, maybe you can make yourself useful and help Pete in the camera room.”

“Doing what?”, Frank huffed, but he looked to Pete anway, who shrugged, and led him to the other end of the offices.

***

The blue hazy glow of the wall of screens in front of them had Frank dazed, he was already tired and Pete’s plucky observations helped lull him into a stupor. 

He asked, “How are you okay right now? How are you this fucking… bright?”

Pete took in the question and paused as if to really mull over his answer. Finally he shrugged, “I’m actually not cool at all. I’ve just had a little longer to process, is all. Plus, it’s just one of those things that I feel like I can’t do much about so why worry more than I need to?”

“That’s a fair point, I guess.”, Frank agreed, he was pulled into himself in the rolly-chair, knees clamped to his chest with his arms, face down.

“Also just like,” Pete went on, “I figure I’m still doing my job by protecting you guys even if I’m shit at it. I can make that my objective and disregard the rest.”

That caught Frank’s attention, shedding a new light on the guy across from him. Pete had always sorta been this dopey weirdo that put his nose where it didn’t belong and had the wrong reaction to every situation, but that kind of made sense. Huh, Frank thought, and “Huh.”, he replied.

***

Ray wandered around aimlessly for a moment, tuning out the drone of the news program behind him. After a while, alone with his thoughts, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to check around and see what 


	3. Not!Fic, weird circus au

This is the Circus AU that Would Be if I had the talent for it because I know exactly how I’d want it to look and sound and feel like but I’m not sure I could ever achieve it. So alas, I present you with a jumbling mess of thoughts that pales in comparison to the Real Thing (the movie in my mind):

Bandom is a circus troupe, a contemporary touring production team. They’re somewhat corporate, not like Cirque but like, it’s all very Professional. It certainly isn’t the kind of family run show that has kids and parents all working together (which would also be fantastic and is the reason i wanna run away but this isn’t britain), everyone is about 18 to 40+ and they all love each other because it’s a difficult job that requires teamwork and trust but it isn’t casual at all. 

They’re a small team, and they call themselves a company like a theatre or ballet company, because it’s all very Serious remember? It’s conceptual and uptight a little bit, I really gotta stress it because who is our Director????? Actually it’s 19 going on 20 y/old George Ryan Ross the 1,2,3rd 

  
  


Well, it’s not…….it’s Gerard Way and Jack White… and Ross is sort of an understudy who fancies himself very important because he’s In With The Directors but really he’s like, not even a PA because that’s a hard job, he’s like an errand boy :> also he’s weirdly flexible, not a gymnast or athlete by any means but he can move a little and so he frequently plays Creature Roles as Gerard calls them 

  
  


Jack White joining the company was an unexpected thing, they knew they needed someone to replace their old co-runner but Gerard was a little bit creatively heartbroken after his previous collaborator left and he was understandably skeptical of all the applicants except Mr White is kind of who he is in the real world, like this multi-talented aesthetic-minimalist all around cool guy who is relatively respected in his field, except he remained a bit smaller than he is irl and somehow has ties to theatre or something, relocating to like idk nashville? yeah?

So officially the troupe is called The Travelling Circus of The Fabulous Killjoys because I literally can’t think of something better and it has to tie in somehow and they’re going down to the midwest and they’ve made somewhat of a name for themselves as this small artsy performance ring and so Jack is somehow forwarded the application info and he’s curious so he calls up Gerard and is like “Hello, what even are you guys? Let’s have breakfast.”

Gerard is floored because OhWow he knows who this guy is and he really admires his work and his work ethic and all sorts of things so he Brings Mikey (who is the choreographer and is also obv a dancer BTW, he does contemporary but grew up with ballet) and they meet Jack and they sort of explain what they’re about This Travelling Collective of Artists Working Together to Help Inspire People *insert Gerard gushing about his Vision here* 

And they go on to explain what exactly the need for a co-director is and it’s because they aren’t only a creative company they are a Business employing all these wonderful people and it isn’t that Gerard has no head for numbers it’s that they need someone who understands how to run a business without suffocating the creative side of it, Gerard is the one who knows how to run a creative project without suffocating the business end of it… he needed equilibrium and Jack is like, “actually that’s kinda neat, could i apply for a trial period to see how it works?”

and Gerard is like CAN YOU LEAVE TODAY you can stay for as long as you want but i’m drowning in P4P3RWoRk

and they’re off

So the troupe takes pretty kindly to Jack as expected and he gets introduced to Patrick Stump composer extraordinaire, and Andy Hurley physical trainer coach man, and Joe Trohman resident physical therapist, and Frank Iero (aka Knife Man, aka Fire-Breathing-Lizard) who compensated the entire time the previous co-director was gone and is all around just a Handy Guy who does Too Much, and Ray Toro who is part bookkeeper part band member part composer part also Handy Guy who does Too Much but is mostly in charge of set design

The weird thing is, Jack finds as he meets the department heads and the performers and even the laborers, that every single one of them is a musician. Or musically talented in some capacity. He asks Gerard about this one day who replies like it isn’t weird at all, “Oh yeah, it’s kind of a requirement for the job” How? Why? “Well, Patrick and Ray Toro and I write the music for each production and we all have other obligations so when they’re not setting up the big top or changing the sets we actually have people alternate within the live band. You can join in one day :D if you want that is, since you’re a musician and all.”

So, Once Upon A Time…

The previous co-director was Pete Wentz (GASP) he’s probably not who you were expecting i hope, but his and Gerard’s dynamic made perfect sense to them. Pete could network and ringlead where Gerard counselled internally and watched from afar, Pete was practically his polar opposite and their shortcomings were usually made up for by Ray who was like the Right Hand to their weird disjointed frankenstein body of ideas and execution.

When Jack came on, things changed, for the better by most accounts, not better than Pete but not worse, just different, more efficient, better in different ways than it had been. It had this metal exterior with the organs of a living being, and Gerard was a little bit in (a lot) in love with the changes even tho the company missed Pete like crazy.

Where did he GO???????? You ask, well a few months before he was having some Internal Struggles which can remain undefined as essentially it resulted in a radical career change and an existential crisis, basically his family is quite well to do in… Cars…. sure, and he was like God Hwat Am I Doinsgshs With This Silly Circus and he blows up pretty publicly he really let’s em have it in terms of how Silly It Is >:( and He Storms Out and he doesn’t come back or talk to any of them except for to send one cursory email to Gerard as his resignation letter and Gee and Patrick cry together and then don’t talk about it ever again 

Everything is in shambles for a long time but the show must go on! So Frank and Ray take up the spot of Pete (alternating where needed) and Gerard leans on both of them A Lot, and Mikey takes up therapist/receptionist/ communicating between Gerard and Pete, very much like “Tell him I said…” “Oh yeah? Well, tell  _ him _ I said…” and it sucks but eventually G and P just stop talking altogether. Mikey and Pete, and the fall out boys at the circus are all still buddies tho so it’s kinda awkward but not that much after a while. 

The new production is the Black Parade, a commentary and window into grief and violence, and self destruction. Gerard has these melodies, and these concept drawings and he’s really nervous about it. FrankMikeyRay have always known about TBP, wrote demos with G in the early days back when they were still touring on Revenge (A circus play inspired by Bonnie and Clyde about prohibition, bank robbing, and avenging a dead loved, part romeo and juliet, part bloodbath, but somehow still kid friendly.) Gerard presents his drafts to Jack one day, like hey so I have this concept and idk take a look if you want to and Jack is like: 0.0 … That’s gonna be a big fucking production compared the last one, which was a more straight up circus routine with an emphasis on physical acts and costumes in tribute to 1930s hollywood horror. 

Gerard is like, “yeah… I never used to think it was possible because I want it to be so much more than everything else, like totally all out, and I never thought it was possible… but now we have someone like you, and everything has been working so smoothly, I just thought…”

And Jack is like, “No shut up, we’re gonna make this happen, and it’s gonna be a big fucking deal. Are these… demos?” he asks, examining fucking casette tapes.

“Yeah.” Gerard confirms.

SO they work on the choreography of these twelve songs, they’ve got acrobats, they’ve got the people that dance with curtains, they’ve got ballet people, and a guy that does martial arts for some reason, and this is all during the off period of the winter, which means Jack is handling a bunch of shit like trying to get a proper stage manager, and requesting sponsorships and grants, they fundraise, they film a trailer, it’s a big buzz for a good few months, the production is in working order by early March, and that’s when they start touring. Gerard’s got his white hair, and everyone is decked out in costumes, and for the first time our cute lil director man makes his stage debut as the Patient character, and the Ringleader of the black parade. It’s almost the album but it follows a more cohesive to follow narrative, with a fuck ton of pyro and a lot more dancers and jumping around, Frank plays the butcher during I Don’t Love You Anymore where he hits targets and juggles worryingly sharp knives and axes while a lady dancer in all white does a melancholy ballet routine on the other side of the stage. The band is dressed up like the army, there’s a figure with joan of arc’s banner, the riser for the band is shaped like the wttbp float, it’s sickening, it’s fucking really cool, it’s the closest theatre, to rock opera, to cirque that they get, it’s literally incredible fuck everyone, and it’s a hit, sold out shows everytime

… and then they get to chicago, and Pete is Blond also because midlife crisis and also he went back to business school night classes and took over his dad’s car empire or something, and he’s curious about the show, he can’t help it, even he knew about TBP since the early days but he never thought they could pull it off with the limitations of the company, so he calls Mikey and gets a back-stage-tent pass, and he watches the whole thing and pre-show he fucks around the out fall boys for old times sake and also he and patrick are like lowkey dorks about eachother but they don’t ever do anything about it, then after the show Pete’s like “I gotta fucking leave now cos I’m really embarrassed bye” But Gerard walks backstage, and at first he’s like  _ that’s a weird mirror-- OH WAIT _ , and they hug and it’s not awkward in the slightest surprisingly,

Pete’s like “you actually did, you’re insane.”

And Gerard is like, “Not without everyone’s help, I didn’t. They’re insane for indulging me.”

And Jack appears and he’s like “No we’re not, it’s incredible.”

AND Pete prickles a little and being introduced to his ‘replacement’ but they actually get on pretty well, and they spend the rest of night having congratulatory wanking conversation before it’s like 3 am and Pete’s like fuck I gotta go I gotta be up at 5 and then he’s like, fuck it no, what am I thinking. The following day the circus is still in town, taking down the equipment, the big top, recuperating after a four month tour, they have a few days off in Chicago, and nobody whose in the loop can tell if it was purpose. 

Gerard and Ryan have a big long talk about the pros and cons of the old arrangement versus the new, Frank weighs in when he catches them over coffee mid-talk and says “If Gerard is the right brain, and Jack is the left brain, then Pete was the backbone, just as good just as important just as smart but more core to the personal than the big picture.”

“What does that make you then?” asks Gerard, who gestures for him to join them.

“In a small way I think our inner circle is the beating heart, and the rest of the operation is the skeleton and the armour, etc. Ross here is a thumb.” says Frank, and they talk about this theory for a long time before Gerard smashes a fist on the table in determination.

“I’m gonna ask Pete if he wants to come back, it’s been almost a year, he should be over his self-pitying bullshit by now and if he doesn’t wanna come back then so be it, but I’m over holding a grudge against my spinal cord.”

ANd Pete is AlreaDy TheRE VisItinG and he over hears this part for convenience sake and he reunites with them as an administrator of some kind nd he and Jack learn a dynamic of like efficiency versus focused passion and they all banter and go along with the Gerardisms, and Fankie and Ray and Mikey and Joe and Andy and Patrick and Ryan the beating heart all help in an even better way than ever before, and we leave off with the unknown potential of an open concept musical circus act about desert rebels fighting against expectations of late capitalism, partialls as a jab to Pete’s weird car business ceo phase which he never lives down 

The end 


	4. Star Trek AU, "continuation" of my other fic Name Game

“Star fleet.”, Mikey said. 

“I see,” replied Sordon, his father. They were communicating via video feed. “You didn’t truly have any plans of applying to the science academy, did you?”

“No,” Mikey said honestly, “My scores weren’t the problem, but… I believe I haven’t honored Vulcan tradition in the ways that are expected. I’m… not confident that I, a human acting Vulcan hybrid would be very welcome among a majority Vulcan population. More specifically, I’m worried grandmother T’Mora would not enjoy having me around for longer than is strictly necessary.” Mikey smiled.

Sordon nodded, “You know there are many human students within the academy, and I am sure you would be welcomed by the majority of the student body since interplanetary immigration has become much more common. Your assessment of T’Mora would be more or less accurate, yes. My mother hardly approves of anything I do, let alone you, son. Tell your mother hello, and Gerard, of course. I will be expecting excellence in your starfleet training, do keep me updated. Live long, and prosper.”

“Bye,” Mikey replied, closing his device.

xxx

“Dad says hi,” Mikey said as he entered the common room. 

“Oh,” Donna nodded, “How is he?”

“Normal.” Mikey said, “I told him about the academy, and he pretty much gave me the go ahead so that was nice.”

“Did T’Mora hear?”, Donna smiled.

“She will, and no matter what the old bat won’t like what I do. I’m already not normal by her standards. I mean,” Mikey sat down in the chair across from his mother, “She’s already like, 200 or something, you think she’d’ve collapsed by now.”

“Longevity, darling, not only runs in Vulcans generally, but also on both sides of the family,” Donna shrugged, “I expect to be passing 100 before I die.”

“I hope so,” Mikey said glumly.

“When’s your brother coming home?”, Donna asked, changing the subject. She had a now-empty cup of coffee which she held as she stood up to enter the kitchen.

Mikey watched her behind the counter, “Sunday.” he said.

“Can you believe he’s an officer, now?”, she said, discarding her mug in the sink. 

Mikey followed her into the kitchen, and leaned against the counter, tucking his personal device under his arm, “Yes, actually. He’s always been very capable. Although, I’ll admit I was surprised how well he claimed to pass the physical tests.”

Donna grinned, “You stop it, you’re as much of a homebody as he was.”

Mikey shrugged, “I’ll be going back with him in about a week. You should be nicer to me before I leave for the next four years, or longer.”

Donna huffed, “Cruel”, she shook her head in humour.

xxx

A week and some later, Gerard and Mikey were indeed leaving to head to the academy. Donna dismayed over her boys having to endure the west coast, but Gerard assured Mikey he’d like it since it was so mild in weather.

“So have you killed anything yet?”, Mikey asked. They were strapped in sitting together on a federation transporter ship that would take about 2 hours to reach base along with other new recruits and some officers.

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information, cadet.” Gerard grinned.

“Asshole.” Mikey nudged him with his shoulder, “So you haven’t, then. Cargo runs? C’mon, all I know is that you’ve been up and out there, but… where?”

“Well,” Gerard said, “ It should interest you that I’ve been on an escort mission for a Vulcan ambassador from Earth to there.”

“Did you get off and explore at all?”, Mikey smiled.

“No, but I did tell Sordon to look out his window and see if he could spot us. He didn’t appreciate that very much.” Gerard shrugged.

“Right.” Mikey deflated, “cool.” the conversation dwindled after that. 

Mikey retreated to his thoughts. His brother and Vulcan had been an area of contention ever since Mikey made the decision to make Earth his primary home. It wasn’t out of favoritism, there were often times that he held regret over not sticking to the intercultural education plan his father had devised out of respect for his mother. But, Gerard couldn’t help latching onto the idea that somehow Mikey rued Vulcan himself in some way which simply wasn’t true. He only disagreed in terms of how he personally wanted to express himself, which was not purely Vulcan, or human. Not even a mix of the two like his families had attempted, but rather just himself.

That being said, Gerard’s animosity towards Vulcan came from a protective place and Mikey was mostly dismayed that his attempts to explain how unnecessary it was often went ignored by his brother. Gerard was sensitive, but also commanding where he needed to be whereas Mikey was ultra-sensitive and very non-confrontational except for when he knew he was factually correct and could explain his reasoning thoroughly. The game of emotions was more subjective, which Mikey appreciated and often enjoyed, except for when it was conflicting. His father often expressed a lack of understanding when Mikey explained these situations to him, but the attempt at distant support was both sweet and appreciated even if it was not helpful.


	5. cyberpunk space pirate au

“An hourly rate? No, thanks. It’s unreliable at best.”, Fun Ghoul sneered.

“Minimum wage has gone up by at least 50 marks.”, Jet Star reasoned. 

“But I’m talking about the fact that that exists. What is it, a fucking pirate union? They’re making it that much easier for people to get into the trade. Or, sorry, the take.”, Ghoul waved.

“Ha, you should write that one down.”, Jet drawled.

“Yeah, and while I’m at it I could write a report to the admin about you scheming to steal from the company you already work for.”, Ghoul countered.

That was the thing, according to most pilots and drivers, business was business if it got food on the table. Dead Pegasus Oil Trade was very aware of this, a good number of their employees having been shipmen from the stars. Ex-pirates, and most labourers were used to getting their earnings up front in full and for most projects that was the standard mode of payment.

“I’d like to think that I’ve gained at least a little of your sympathy by now, kid.”, Jet said, his expression was blank, but the tone was warm. 

Ghoul smiled, “Of course you have, you’re a hell of a pilot. You stick to your word. I might even say I trust you a little, I mean, if I had to pick somebody. Doesn’t mean you’re not a crook, though.”

“You talk too much,” Jet ran a grease stained hand over the stubble on his chin. “All I’m saying is it wouldn’t be so bad.” 

Ghoul huffed.

“Something to break up he monotony.” Jet sniffed, and spat on the ground in front of them. 

They were leaned against one of the large tins in the yard, the traffic of fellow sailors mucking up the dirt paths all around them. The Post, a popular restaurant and bunker was directly in their line of sight. 

Jet sighed, and patted Ghoul’s shoulder a couple times, “Beer.” He said, and left toward the Post, Ghoul shrugged him off with a scowl. He looked around the yard, taking in the anonymous crowd, and huddled into himself. He took out his holo-pad, and expanded the screen to read the news, maybe look for new route postings. 

  
  


Before he could get concentrated on anything, a scuffle down near the entrance caught his attention. It was a hover-trailer being hauled by the leader of a group of rogues called the Used, he went by Kraken. The commotion, it seemed was another guy calling out at Kraken about illegal cargo. That was not a light accusation, and Ghoul grimaced, looking over his shoulder and wondering if he could slip away. 

Kraken pulled the trailer further into the square and a small crowd was beginning to form around him. He seemed to be in better shape than the last time Ghoul had seen him, but not by much. 

Kraken addressed the crowd, “I caught a bounty that’s been giving the Guard trouble for a few months now. It’s a droid, and yes, it’s worth a lot. It is not, however,” he lifted a hand to his holstered raygun, “illegal, by any means.”

Recognition struck Ghoul’s expression, he knew that droid very well. It had been all over the headlines for a long time now. An experiment “gone terribly wrong,” and a “menace to society.” He didn’t know much about the process of droid production, they were usually grunt workers. Some were intelligent and made for household jobs, teaching positions, companionship but this one was different.

Kraken’s trailer was locked down heavier than he’d seen any before, and the parking bay further down the square was fairly secure. Even still, it was surprising the confidence they had just leaving it there as the rogues entered the Post. Some curious stares continued for several moments after they’d gone, lingering on the case, wondering if it were the truth. A million marks for a metal body. 

Ghoul couldn’t stop thinking about it, he decided to go back to his reading but this time he logged into the network and searched for the bot in question. An unknown hybrid of android and killing machine with hyper intellect, said forums. A dangerously unstable experiment, urgently requiring return, said the Guard. Undeniably advanced and interesting.

“Something to break up the monotony,” Ghoul said to himself under his breath. His jaw was set in a firm way that he hadn’t really felt before, a certainty he’d never experienced. 

On his pad he sent a message to Jet, ‘Can you get the ship ready? Let’s break out of here, after all. But it won’t be stealthy. Also I’m stealing something valuable. Time sensitive.’

‘Sounds fun, be ready in 5.’ replied Jet. A moment later Ghoul saw him leaving the Post for the carrying wing. Shit. 

In a moment of panic, Ghoul ran to the parking bay to find his bike. He started the engine and it buzzed to life, hovering a moment later, he walked it near to the exit where the trailer was parked. He scanned the surroundings, wondering how to attach the thing to his vehicle. He had a net, and he didn’t really have time to think about how rudimentary it was before he was tying it to the hitch at the back and slinging it through the handle of the trailer. Most machines had codes and such to recognize other vehicles before they would link, and this one was no different.

Ray texted him, ‘Good. You?’ He bared his teeth and inhaled with annoyance, but mostly stress. With another glance at his surroundings he mounted the bike and plotted a path through the crowd. Revving the engine, and with some adrenaline, the bike bolted through the square at lightening speed swerving through groups of strangers, who were secretly cheering him on. As he exited he square, he noted the shouts behind him from the Post, likely Kraken and his gang. He grinned to himself, no hard feelings, just a game of wills, he thought.

A rush through some sharp corners and he was in the hangar area of the yard in no time. He could see the Bela Muerte readying for take off, the back hatch open to receive him. It would take a little bit of speedy encouragement but they could make it, pretty easily. He forced the bike forward and up the ramp, the trailer bumping the edge of the hatch with a metal twang that hurt his ears. But they’d made it. 

“GOOD. YOU?” Ghoul yelled to the cock pit. 

Jet Star laughed maniacally, and they were off. 

There were two modes used most commonly among smaller trade ships like the Bela: the Slips and the Stars. The slipstream was a phenomena that developed after the last big disaster, a worldly shift causing civilization to collapse. The stream itself was a river of wind used for transport of goods as well as passengers, and most existing colonies were situated around the current in the valley that supported it. Outer space was another story, the immediate area around the Earth was relatively orderly but just like open waters the further a ship gets the looser the law becomes.

  
  


Ghoul’s first priority was getting the bike into storage, he suspected they were bound for a bumpy ride and any loose cargo was hazardous at best. When the whirring of the engine stopped, and it was secure in its place, he knew he had to confront the trailer. 

“Codes,” he muttered to himself. Ghoul scratched the bag of his head and frowned at the locked case as if staring at it would open the damn thing. He sighed, and scuffed his boot against the ground. Instead he decided it would be better just to tether the thing to a handle while it floated, mocking him. He left to the cock pit, and sat in the co-pilot’s chair next to Jet.


	6. Late Edwardian Lynz and G

Lindsey stood tall and gangly in her burnt-sienna dress, staring Gerard down with an ice to melt bergs, she stepped aside to let him through the door. An awkward shuffle to the living area told him exactly what wasn’t happening, which was the dinner party he’d been looking forward to. A questioning glance over his shoulder to Lindsey told him even less, since her expression hadn’t changed. Although, with a second glance he did notice that the pigment of her dress was actually white, and that she was full-body stained in what appeared to be wine. 

There was no one else in the room despite the various handbags and accoutrements that one might possess at a business casual event. The silence was growing heftily and Gerard took the opportunity to finger the rim of an empty glass on the table to his right, his overcoat was still folded in his other arm and Lindsey didn’t appear to be budging.

“Who died?” he asked.

“That’s your first assumption?” she scoffed, moving into the weight of her hip and folding her arms.

“Well, you invited me to a party where there are no guests and you happen to be painted in an ambiguous red liquid. I could assume many things, murder being one of the least outlandish.” he said.

“Ugh,” Lindsey sighed, “Look at you. No one talks like that, no one…”

“Mayhaps we sit down?”, Gerard asked, not awaiting a reply as he moved to take a place on the love seat.

Lindsey followed suit, “I’ll tell you, alright?”

“Good,” Gerard nodded.

“We were playing a game of cards before food was supposed to be served when Jimmy made a comment on some lady’s marital status. She denied everything and requested we focus on the game, but for some reason he kept pushing until she was so worked up she was shouting all about how ‘yes, it was me that ended it. I’m the unfaithful one, oh.’ So, everyone started bickering amongst themselves, accusing each of this and over that until finally I had enough and I walked right up to her, and said ‘Look lady, I believe you should be leaving about now.’”, Lindsey cracked up, lifting a hand to hide her smile, “And she replied by dumping her glass over my head.” 

“Surely, it couldn’t have been that much.” Gerard said, gesturing to the length of her skirt.

“It was when, one after the other, each lovely and esteemed guest followed her example and ruined my fine carpet.”, she shook her head. 

“Well, what for?” Gerard frowned.

“I haven’t the slightest.” Lindsey shrugged.

Together they aimed to clean up the mess left by the apparently civil partygoers. Although the quantity of trash and personal belongings bordered on whelming. 


	7. dustbowel au

###  Oklahoma — 1935, March

The Way Homestead

  
  
  


Gerard was sitting at the table, thumbing the family bible. Various pages dog-eared, and annotated even, by his father. His eyes scanned the page, and he took a drink from the cracked mug in his other hand. It was just boiled water, there hadn’t been anything to embellish it with for weeks. 

“Mikey,” he called, but it ushered no response. He sat for a moment longer, staring exasperatedly at the ceiling, before pushing his chair back and slamming the book shut. He walked to the entrance of the first bedroom, the length of his jeans tattered with wear had his bare feet tripping over the floorboards as he leaned against the jamb. 

“Hello?” he said to the empty room. A candle was lit on the bedside table in the far corner. He went inside and grabbed it off the table, blowing it out and taking it with him, the wax threatening to spill onto his hand, but he was steadier on the way out. He went back to the kitchen table and sat it down there, bracing himself against the chair, he thought about sitting back down. Instead he walked to the back bedroom, formerly his parents, now his, and the glow of the oil lamp gleaming against his brother’s spectacles in the dark sent a shiver through him, but he wasn’t sure why.

“What’re ya doin?” he asked, and Mikey looked at him but didn’t say anything. In the dark he could see the hand gesture of come hither, and he did, standing and peering over his brother’s shoulder. He could see now, there in his bed laid a stranger, dirty and sleeping and he frowned. Wondering how he hadn’t noticed Mikey hauling a body into the house, he grabbed his brother’s hand and they left the room.

In the light of the kitchen, Mikey looked sheepish, “I was going out to the well and I thought I’d seen something off in the distance. He was still breathing so I brought him back.”

“When?” Gerard asked.

“This morning, when you had the mule in town.” Mikey shrugged.

“I think it wouldn’t have been right in just leavin’ him to die. You did a good thing. I don’t know, though, if it’s in our best interest.”

“Suppose we’ll learn that soon enough.” Mikey replied, and they sat down across from each other at the table.

“Why’d you blow out my candle?” Mikey asked.

  
  
  





  
  
  


That evening, over the wood stove Gerard boiled beans, enough for three, and a little extra. Mikey watched him, their mother’s rosary clutched in his hand, and he fiddled with the beads out of nervous habit. “Maybe you should’ve made a soup,” he said.

“Right, sure.” Gerard shook his head, “With what ingredients?”

“Just a thought,” Mikey continued, “If he’s out of it, maybe he’s sick. Maybe something less solid would be better.”

“Then he can have water,” Gerard said, and he continued to stir the pot until some of the beans seemed to split, indicating the softening. 

“Colander, please.” he said to Mikey, who scrambled to find the tinny contraption. The steam was immense and they drained the water into a bucket for later. Gerard portioned the beans into three bowls and handed two to his brother.

Mikey took them to the back room, and Gerard tried not to listen the brief conversation.

“He says thank you.” Mikey informed as he took his place at the table. 

“Hm,” Gerard nodded, and they ate in silence.

  
  





  
  


The boy’s name, it turned out, was Frank, and he was from a town or so over where his family had been stripped of their farm. Like everyone else, unable to produce much but some pathetic stocks, barely enough for half a bushel. He’d caught a ride into town, and was looking for a cousin he was sure lived here.

“But I was told they’d moved almost three years ago,” he said to his lap.

Gerard was sat at the end of the bed, and Mikey stood next to him. Frank’s head was wrapped in a warm, damp cloth, he’d caught fever that night. “And it’s not so surprising,” he said, “My luck is this bad, and I’m sickly anyhow.”

“You freely admit that, do you?” Mikey asked with humour.

Frank nodded, “What’s there to hide when there’s no work, anyway?”

“S’pose so,” Gerard agreed.

“I,” Frank went on, “really appreciate what y’all have done for me. There’s no way to repay your kindness, and so I’d like to remain in your debt.”

Mikey raised a hand to dismiss the offer, “That’s really okay, we like—“

“That sounds even.” Gerard said, putting an end to it.

Frank slept for four more days before he regained a full sense of lucidity, when he was walking upright and asking after their bathroom Gerard pointed him out towards the back of the house where a rickety structure stood next to a stable. Frank plugged his nose at the sight, looking over his shoulder as if to ask if that was his only option. Gerard shooed him away, and went back to his reading.

  
  
  
  



	8. inanimate object au??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this one is fucking weird, it's if everyone was an inanimate object, see if you can guess who's who, and if you can't there's the answer in the end notes

Pen, Notebook, Rock, and Scissors were all very good friends. Grenade, who watched from afar on the other side of the table yearned to join them. It could overhear the conversations they would have, laughing and joking about all sorts of things. Much it didn’t understand, like Pen and Rock and Scissors who had experience with things beyond their home, which Grenade learned was called the office. Sometimes it even overheard conversations about itself, or fellow office dwellers across the various surfaces in their area. It learned about itself that it was not, in fact, explosive. Even though, in the earliest days it could recall, that was how it was spoken about by the people that created it. Now, the person that kept it only really acknowledged its presence when the person was using Pen to replicate its image on Notebook.

In that way, it felt connected to Pen in particular, who was very good at recreating recognizable versions of other things. Pen would create stories as well, from things he’d experienced on a journey outside the office, or what he had picked from persons. Grenade liked these stories very much, they helped pass the boring stretches of time between when it was actually serving its purpose for their person. One time, Pen was telling a story about how he'd met Paint and how interesting she was and how many friends she had. He told them he had learned about color, and that she was Red Paint, and her best friend was Green Paint, and their other friend was Brown Paint, and so on. Pen described these beautiful images that the paints could make by working together, getting lost in the process and creating new colors. He shared that he felt a way he could not describe about her, Red Paint, and about the way she had apologized for seemingly nothing for the fact that she and Pen could not create the same things that her friends could. Notebook had said something quiet in return, which seemed to ease Pen because he went on to share other marvels of a far away place called the studio.

Sometimes, it was Rock who told the stories, but he always began with stating they were memories that he was not sure were his own. He always ended with the same thankful note that he was brought in from the harsh ground outside into the warmth of the office. Grenade struggled to hear Rock sometimes because he spoke quietly and with a firmness that sort of intimidated it. Rock had many boring descriptions of creatures and things called plants, like the ones in the window. He shared once that he’d been picked up by something called a dog, and thrown into a moving thing called a river, and collected by a small person and abandoned somewhere along the way, which is how he made it here. He shared that his shape was considered noteworthy to persons, as compared to others of his kind, because he was particularly round and smooth. He did share that once long ago that he used to take pride in this fact, but then he was acquainted with a collection of other rocks that looked very much like himself and then he felt less important. He was glad to be moved to the office, because the collection of hims often spoke over each other and about nothing very interesting.

Scissors were not used by their person often, but he was very good at what he did. Pen regarded him with much pride, to which Scissors would politely deny any claim that he was interesting or remarkable. Pen argued that actually Scissors was very interesting, in that he was used to separate their acquaintance Paper, and sometimes Notebook, but in doing so often created something from destruction. Scissors could cut through many things, he was very strong, but watching him held a certain beauty that Grenade admired more than envied. Grenade, if indeed it could explode things, would not be very calculated or beautiful but just as destructive, if not more so than Scissors. Scissors had a lot of advice for practical things, he was a bit more worldly than all of them because he was brought out the most. Their person complained about the lack of his kind at the studio, and thanked Scissors for being sturdy and reliable. Unlike Pen, who was very loud about his importance sometimes, Scissors never boasted about his usefulness or skill. Grenade thought that it wasn’t just because he was quieter anyway, but that he was more secure with his position and did not need to reinforce it.

Grenade could understand that state of mind, liked it, but did not feel the same way since it had never been given the opportunity to be more than a prop.

And then one day, it happened that their person moved Grenade from its spot on the far away part of the desk, to the middle next to Notebook. 

Pen said, “Hello strange thing.”

Grenade did not know what to say, it was stunned, so it responded with a small, “Yes.”

“I like this one,” declared Pen. “How are you called? We’ve only been in brief contact.”

“I’m Grenade,” said Grenade. 

“He is Grenade.” Pen said, in the same way he would often begin an adventure story.

“Yes.” said Grenade, and for a moment, in a sweep and flood of feeling, it was like his life had started for real this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pen is gerard  
> notebook is mikey  
> rock is bob  
> scissors is ray  
> grenade is frank  
> and paint is lynz


	9. unfinished porn

Beach Handy Rewrite | literally porn practice

  
  


The first week of summer break annually featured a massive party on the shore, similar in vein to college’s Spring Break but far less extravagant and way more Italian. Frank was there with all his friend, Hambone, and had been ditched promptly to lay about in the desolate sands of time with a sad but growing buzz. It was late enough into the evening, shitty music blaring from shittier speakers, that several campfires broke about the landscape. He liked the smell of the ocean air, the damp kind of inviting a humidity that didn’t usually exist in Jersey. He could feel the sweat on his forehead when the light breeze forced him to be aware of the contrast. 

Down the beach a ways, there was a particularly loud group that was dispersing to other smaller collections of people. One guy, clearly out of his fucking mind was stumbling around and singing some kind of song that Frank didn’t didn’t quite recognize. At some point the dude fell over, a cloud of sand being swept up with the momentum of it into the wind, threatening to whip Frank as he approached the body, crouching down and tapping the guy’s shoulder which rewarded him with a groan. 

“Hey, man.” Frank said, “are you okay? Do you need to call somebody?”

The guy lifted his head, just enough to make eye contact and it was Gerard fucking Way saying, “heeey, you’re Frankiiie, Mikey’s friend… No I’m great, right now. How are you, buddy?” Rolling over onto his back to look at him proper. 

Frank grinned, bemused but also relieved that this potential shit show wasn’t a complete stranger. “Yo, I’m good, you look like you’ve had a helluva time.” And he decided to settle into the sand, too, on his back, looking up at the vast expanse of sky above them.

Gerard said, “I think I pissed myself at some point. Definitely marks for a great fucking night.”

Frank erupted into giddy laughter, and now he was absolutely glad he’d found this weirdo because he knew he was in for more off kilter remarks if the night was young. They were there for a few hours talking about all sorts of things like comics and movies and friends, like people do. Frank was in the middle of saying something about the sociopolitical context of Red Dawn and other such propaganda blah blah when Gerard had leaned in suddenly to cut him off with a kiss. Which, what? Yeah, whatever.

Laying down beside each other was a bit awkward to maneuver for a moment, Frank slinging an arm here, a leg there, trying not to get sand in his eye. Gerard’s lips were chapped to fuck, Frank’s own tongue felt like carpet but then they salivating into eachother and it wasn’t so bad actually. Frank was sort of caught between balancing himself to lean up, and licking into Gerard’s mouth when they pulled back. 

Gerard said, “whoa, cool.” and then his hand was unzipping Frank’s jeans, on his dick through his underwear, generating friction to try for something. Frank sighed, it felt good even if he wasn’t close to there yet, his mood so was, he leaned in back to catch Gerard’s lips and they exchanged chaste little kisses as Gerard’s hand sped up bringing him to something a little firmer than before. Gerard moved on top of him, hand kind of caught in Frank’s pants awkwardly for a moment before they shifted back, weight distributed not uncomfortably. Frank bucked his hips up, looking for more, Gerard kissing him decidedly this time with more fervor, hand back on the outside of his jeans making for that suggestion of pressure. 

Pulling away, only a little breathless Frank said, “more, fuck.”


	10. horror movie au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampires Will Never Hurt You But Strangers Might
> 
> So I saw the tweet thread of G and the milk fic (ugh) and he was saying something about making peace with fic and that he didn’t care if someone wrote a version of the human centipede with him and escape the fate, and I don’t really know anything about escape the fate (other than Ronald so he’s making a feature, hello) but I do know about horror, and I was thinking about how disgusting it would be if I followed through on this not-prompt and so here we are and I’d say I’m sorry but I’m not and that’s just the truth of it.
> 
> i tried to write this for literally a year and only got this far, nothing gross happens jsyk

—

  
  
  


North Dakota, 2004, July

  
  
  
  


“Oh my fucking god,” Gerard sighed, hand covering his face so it was slightly muffled. But everyone knew exactly how he felt. 

“Amen,” Ray said, he was in the driver’s seat. 

“What are we doing?” Mikey asked, from passenger.

“I want beer.” said Frank.

“Okay,” Gerard settled into the trash pile of laundry and candy wrappers of the very back seat, “Okay. We’re gonna need to wait it out, I think. That’s all we can do.”

“It’s a dead fucking road.” Frank argued, “We’re just gonna sit here for god knows how long and wait for some stranger’s good conscience to help us? Forget it.”

“I kinda second that,” Ray said, turning in his seat to face the back two rows of the van. He gestured openly with his hand, “I mean, there’s some houses a little ways back. Maybe we should find a drive way and ask to use their phone?”

“No thanks,” said Mikey, crossing his arms. 

“Recipe for murder.” Gerard added.

“So is just sitting here,” Frank said, “I mean, Texas chainsaw?”

“Fuck off,” Gerard waved his hand dismissively, “Hitchikers are one thing but the whole premise of that is reverse home-invasion which is exactly what you could walk into.”

“This is dumb,” Ray cut them off, “Why don’t Frankie and I go, and you guys can wait here and whoever finds help first or, dies first, gets bragging rights. Cool? Cool.”

“M’down.” Frank grinned, hopping up from his place on the bench seat and sliding open the side door.

“Want the keys?” Ray asked.

Gerard frowned, “Yeah.” He reached across the seats and Ray passed them off to him. 

Mikey huffed, and looked out the window in the opposite direction as Ray left the front seat. Frank was still standing in the open doorway and leaning against the van, staring Gerard down apologetically. 

He sighed and kneeled back into the middle bench, leaning over the seat to meet Gerard who just bored holes into them. “We’ll be back.”, he said, “and I have my phone on me. I’ll text you when we find a house, and I’ll text you when we’re on our way back.”

“You know exactly what this sounds like, right?” Gerard asked.

“Like we’re splitting up to go find help because we’re stranded on the side of the road?” Frank raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer so they were almost nose to nose. 

“Like the beginning of every B-flick ever,” Gerard answered, pouting maybe, only a little bit.

Frank bopped their noses together, “be back.” He said, and slammed the door behind himself. 

Ray was already a few feet down the road from the way they’d come, and Mikey watched Frank run to catch up through the rear-view. “Boys are dumb,” he said to Gerard. He didn’t receive any answer, just the ruffling of settling and another sigh. The hot air was finally making itself known and he could feel a film of light sweat surfacing on his face.

“Hey,” Mikey said, “Why don’t cannibals like to eat clowns?”

Gerard met his eye in the rear-view looking unimpressed, “Cos they taste funny,” and ducked his head to hide his smile. Everything would be fine.

***

They walked down the road for a while. It was long and they’d been driving for roughly an hour on the same route before having to stop, the map they had took them down through an exit and to this backwater area where the engine started smoking. Long stretches of forested side-roads existed between even longer driveways and off-roads that lead to darkness and potentially farms or homes of some kind. 

Gerard had wanted to invest in one of those fancy GPS devices that could be mounted directly to the dashboard. But, as a group they figured the upgrade to a van instead of one of their own old vehicles was a far better use of the extra road-trip money. That was the last time, Gerard had told them, he was ever going to participate in collective spending. Frank hoped he wasn’t gloating now that the damn thing had broken down in the middle of nowhere, but he supposed he wouldn’t mind. 

Ray was optimistic that walking wouldn’t take any longer than fifteen minutes but half an hour later he noticed Frank touching his pockets restlessly. “Better let them know we’re still going,” he said over his shoulder which seemed to startle both of them after such a long stretch of silence.

“Fuck us, they say.” Frank tells Ray.

“Great.”

“Do you think we were kind of asking for this?”

“How?” Ray scoffed. “It’s not like it’s in our control.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. 

The road stretched on for another ten minutes, until finally they reached a turn-off with an address attached to a tree. Ray sent a look to Frank, who shrugged, and they went on down the path. It was a considerably nicer walk down the driveway than the road as the trees cocooned them, stretching high into a canopy that blocked the sunlight from breaking through hardly at all. A light breeze washed over them and rustled the leaves to make a chorus of shushing sounds that filtered through among the chittering of birdsong.

The driveway was not as long as Ray was anticipating when they finally came to a house. It was large, two stories, and the carport had a Jeep parked inside. Frank sighed with relief and pulled out his phone to send a text that they’d finally found a place. They climbed the steps of the porch. Ray knocked on the door, the sound of it echoing around them, making the ambience of the forest suddenly, deafeningly, quiet.

***

“You are not folding dirty laundry right now.” Mikey said, breaking away from the magazine he’d been buried in for the last hour. 

“It’s getting to me.” Gerard said, and truthfully the pile of filth was bothering him. 

“You just need something to do.” Mikey shrugged, “I get it.”

But mostly, he was just anxious about the whole affair. Gerard sucked in a breath, and finally turned to face Mikey as he let it go, his shoulders falling with the release of tension. “I’m worried and I want to go home.”

“Could you be more direct?” Mikey teased, but a look over his shoulder stopped him dead when he noticed the terror on his brother’s face was genuine. “Why are you so worked up?”, he asked, “I’m sure it’s fine, it’s a long road in an unpopulated area. I mean, of course it’s gonna take them some time to find a place.”

Gerard wiped his nose on his sleeve, out of nerves, he frowned. “Nothing,” he said.

Along down the road, from the way they came, a small truck rattled along, leaking a trail of smoke from the exhaust. Mikey perked up immediately, and threw his magazine over the seats, barely missing Gerard who just glared at him. “Fuckin’” Mikey gestured frantically, “truck!” he pointed.

Gerard turned around and sure enough he saw through the back window, a truck was idly working its way toward them. “What.” he sat with his mouth open for a moment before scrambling over the seat to get to the side door. He tossed Mikey the keys and left the van to wave his arms, hailing the truck over. 

The driver was a young man, heavily tattooed, and he seemed to regard them suspiciously. The truck pulled up and lulled to a stop directly beside Gerard, the driver window already rolled down. “Howdy,” the man sneered. 

“Hi,” Gerard said breathlessly, “thanks for stopping.”

“Yeah,” the man said, “What’s the matter with yer van over there?”

“We don’t really know,” Gerard shrugged, “uhm– but that’s all, that’s okay. We were just waiting to see if anyone would drive by to give us a number for a local towing company? Do you happen to know any?”

“Uh,” the man hesitated, “Not so sure, I can look in my address book.”

Gerard grinned, “Yes. Please.” What kind of person had an address book these days?

The man turned away to open the glove box and ruffle through some papers, he grabbed a notebook and flipped through some pages one by one to scan the names. He hummed, “Hope’n you didn’t sit here and expect anyone else to come by. This is lucky that I’m here today, it’s a private road.”

“Private?” Gerard echoed, how hadn’t they noticed that?

“Uh-huh,” the man nodded, “I work as a gardener for some of the people out here, nice properties. But, very private.”

“Shit,” said Gerard. “We had no idea.”

***

The door opened, and an oddly dressed bald man told them in a heavy Scottish accent, “Yes. Thank you for coming.”

“Uhm,” Ray wasn’t sure how to respond, “Thanks for having us?”

“Nice coat.” Frank said.

“Thank you,” said the man, gesturing at the silk and lace, “it’s a genuine 1740s vintage.” he smiled, “How can I help you gentleman?”

Ray resisted the urge to sigh, “We got stranded uh, up the road, quite a ways from here, walking distance. And so we were wondering if anyone around here knew of any roadside services? Maybe had a number we could call? Or a mechanic?”

“Hm,” said the man, “The nearest town with anything in it is about three or four hours in any direction. I have a phone book I could give you, I don’t use it myself but it’s the recent edition so it should be fine for your purposes.”

“Great. Thank you.” Ray said.

Frank inched closer to Ray’s side so they were touching and the man in the doorway didn’t seem to move. “Would you like to come in while I look for it?”

“Yes,” said Frank, shoving Ray forward and they followed the guy through the foyer into a large open living room. It was lavishly decorated with all manor of antiquated art and books, even the furniture sparkled. 

“I’m Grant, by the way.” he said as he took them through this room to an even more spacious one that appeared to be a kitchen-dining area. 

Frank introduced himself and Ray and they opted to take seats at the island bar in the kitchen while Grant rifled through cabinet drawers muttering to himself. Over his shoulder, “If you’d like anything while you wait you can help yourself.”

Ray looked at Frank with wide eyes, he didn’t gulp but the feeling was there, a cartoonish reaction to this odd place. Frank didn’t appear affected, contented even, now that their goal had been satisfied. His phone buzzed, a new message. 

He showed the screen to Ray, to read. From Gerard: _ hey this guy in a truck stopped for us and said he knows a guy... back down the road... who could help _

Ray snatched Frank’s phone, typing furiously:  _ this is toro,we have a guy called Grant, looking for a phone book, don’t go anywhere plz _

Frank seemed annoyed, but read over Ray’s shoulder with a little huff. Gerard: _ !!! same guy! ...ask him if he knows Ronnie ??? ... pls _

Ray set the phone on the countertop, and looked about the room to find Grant, who had gone missing since they last looked up. Frank sat up in his stool to peer over the other side of the counter, and patted Ray’s shoulder to direct him to their host who was crouched on the ground and rummaging through Manila folders. 

Ray cleared his throat, “uh. You wouldn’t happen to know someone called Ronnie, would you?”

Grant paused, and sprang up to stand once again. “As a matter of fact, I do. He’s my gardener. Why d’you ask?”

“We have,” Frank butted in, “two of our friends camping out with the van up the road. And they texted us saying that this Ronnie dude was offering to take them to someone he knew would be able to help us out.”

“And that might be me, you’re thinking.” said Grant, “I’d wager you all are correct on that. Wonderfully convenient coincidences, indeed.”

“It would seem so,” said Ray. He sat back in the stool, feeling sceptical of the situation. Even more so that Gerard had just decided to up and go with a stranger after the protest from earlier. He tried to communicate that through eyebrow movements at Frank, but he was buried in his phone again, probably telling the Ways that everything was peachy fucking keen. 

Gerard:  _ we are coming to c u, apparently everything matches up, <3 _

Gross, thought Ray, and he leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. He said, “They’re on their way over. If that’s okay?”

From somewhere beneath them, and rather muffled, Grant said, “Yes. That’s fine. My apologies for the lengthy search, I seem to have misplaced my everything.”

***

As it turned out the phone book was in the basement office, according to Grant who had found it an hour after Ronnie had arrived with Gerard. They were all in the dining hall, having what Grant called  hors d'oeuvres but were really just some ritz crackers and kraft cheese slices hastily put on a plate. Ray had been led to the room with the phone in it, and Gerard made a point to cling directly to Frank’s side with all his sweat and nerves. Ray told them that the towing agency wouldn’t be available until the following day, and Gerard thought he might shit himself when Grant suggested they stay at his house for the night.

“No, that’s really kind of you but we have, we can, we’re fine staying with the van. I mean they could end up getting there any time, right? We wouldn’t want to, it’s fine.” Gerard said eloquently with feeling, maybe one small invisible tear.


End file.
